


acknowledged

by guttersvoice



Category: Code Geass
Genre: Hand Jobs, M/M, Non-Explicit Sex, ch 1 is all sfw, i feel like theres a tag im forgetting to include but i cant figure it out so if u know pls tell me, pre-zero requiem, the nsfw stuff is kept in ch 2 so u only have to read it if u want
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-16
Updated: 2017-01-16
Packaged: 2018-09-18 00:52:39
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9356495
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/guttersvoice/pseuds/guttersvoice
Summary: Suzaku makes Lelouch breakfast, and Lelouch thinks about mutuality and how much he loves him. Suzaku reminds him.





	1. Chapter 1

The room Lelouch chooses for himself in the palace is a small one. Before he took the crown it had probably belonged to a servant. Still, it’s larger than the one he had at Ashford, which was one of the largest they’d had there. Pendragon, as the capital of Britannia, is irresponsibly ostentatious.

Well, it’s many other things besides that, but it’s one of the things he hates about the empire.

And sort of loves, in the way one indulges in loving something decadent and sickly-sweet - he was sprawled across the gilded throne eating turkish delight when he ordered the ridiculous bed be moved into his new room, a four-poster made of intricately carved black oak with heavy silk white-and-navy curtains that drip with the weight of more rubies than any one person should own, knowing full well that only he and two others would ever see how it matches both his and Suzaku’s new armour.

It is armour, of course, even as soft and penetrable as it is. Have to be this extravagantly adorned or those who won't submit won't be able to recognise his victory. It’s armour as much as it is burial robes. His fingers catch over his ribs, over the soft cotton of the old t-shirt he's wearing as pyjamas, and are caught in a broader, rougher hand.

Soft, soft, green eyes smile down at him. He looks, for a moment, caught in the sunlight streaming through the bay window, like someone who has never experienced or caused suffering in his life, and Lelouch is struck by a pang of guilt. But only for a moment.

“I didn’t hear you come in,” he admits, pressing fingers along Suzaku’s jaw.

It's so natural, this closeness and intimacy, that it feels like there was never that invisible barrier between them over the last year. But even at this point, neither of them have taken that step to close the last little distance.

Lelouch wants to. Aches for it; they've curled up to sleep together every night since they killed his parents, but no more than that. And of course he's too proud to ask: he wants Suzaku to want to kiss him, to choose to on his own; doesn’t want to influence the decision by bringing it up. He's influenced enough.

Suzaku’s arm is around his waist now, one hand resting on his hip while the other clasps Lelouch’s so carefully. Like he'd break.

Maybe Suzaku could break him, actually. God knows he has before, in all ways but the physical. Under Suzaku’s hands and words, Lelouch has torn apart before, and will again, one more time, but not yet.

He tries not to look at Suzaku’s mouth: focuses on his eyes and not on the way they're stood like the front of a torrid romance novel, or the warmth where their bodies meet. Leans his head on a broad shoulder and lets himself feel as tired as he is, instead. 

Suzaku takes his slumping weight with ease, of course.

“Your hands are so cold,” he tells Lelouch. He’s smiling, but his eyes shine with grief. Far too early for that.

He's worried him, but he doesn't let the guilt overwhelm him for more than a minute. This is someone he can finally be completely honest with, after all. Showing weakness is just another shape to give to honesty.

Suzaku doesn't give him a chance to come up with an excuse, anyway.

“When was the last time you ate a proper meal?” he asks, and the fact that Lelouch has to think about it for more than a second is answer enough. Suzaku fixes him with an all-too-familiar Look, one Lelouch hasn't seen in too long a while. Certainly long enough that he doesn't think to move away until the last second, so he can't escape Suzaku scooping him up in his arms. He flails and yells, of course, but there's no way he's escaping with his dignity intact, so all he can do is pout and cling to Suzaku’s shoulders as he's carried. Princess style. Bridal style.

Suzaku is laughing, though, and when Lelouch frowns harder he laughs harder, the sound tugging the corners of Lelouch’s lips up.

It's like old times, and when Suzaku extends his leg to open the door with his foot - offensively flexible, this one,honestly - he leans a little closer to Lelouch’s face, and for a moment his breath hitches in anticipation, but then the door is open and the leg is down and Lelouch hadn’t even had the chance to appreciate the stretch of thigh muscles under form-fitting fabric.

Just plain rude. They both laugh as he shrieks and kicks and is carried down the hallway, but he knows he can't escape the secure embrace and eventually settles for pouting as sulkily as he can while he still wants to laugh and still wants to kiss Suzaku.

He comes close, this time. Thinks about it so hard that he almost resolves to just lean forward and do it - he's equal parts relieved and annoyed when he’s interrupted by being set down on his feet so Suzaku can open the kitchen door. He wobbles a little, unsupported. Hadn’t realised how unsteady he was till now. Maybe Suzaku is right about the whole ‘regular mealtimes’ thing, after all.

Well, he's going to eat now, isn't he? He hikes himself up on the counter, which is flawless white marble; of course it is, it's Britannian. His feet dangle too far from the floor, too light without heavy boots with disguised heels. Suzaku clatters. Lelouch wriggles his toes in his socks and imagines a much smaller kitchen, somewhere in Japan maybe, in a three-bed flat where they both could live with his sister and his witch and the cat. A place that doesn't and couldn’t exist. He tries really hard to believe in multiverse theory and hopes that there's a Lelouch curled up on a sofa somewhere with his Nunnally, while his Suzaku makes breakfast and hums something soft and sweet. For a moment, he’s stung with jealousy over what this imagined Lelouch has.

This Lelouch’s own Suzaku is humming too. Every now and then he glances at Lelouch as if to check he's still there.

He's not going anywhere.

When he smiles at Suzaku, Suzaku smiles back. He’s so beautiful Lelouch wants to cry a little. 

The omurice he sets beside Lelouch on the cold marble counter has a heart drawn on it with ketchup, and that's enough to tip him over.

Hot tears roll down his face, the kind of tears you only get when you've put off crying for a while and the build-up gets too much, and emotion of any kind could burst the dam. No noise, no curving of his spine in on itself, just blurred vision and embarrassing wetness on his cheeks.

Suzaku holds him, because of course he does, and says nothing **,** because he understands that it wasn't the omurice, or the clumsy, wobbly heart drawn across it. It was every feeling put behind those things; the choice to make it and the choice to make this and the choice to make it for him. The things they've done and what they're going to do. Suzaku knows all this.

They know the weight of each other's sins.

He curls his fingers around Suzaku’s arms, fingertips pressing in and slipping against sheer fabric, and lets tears fall clean. Eventually even the regrets dry up, and he is left a teenage boy sat in a kitchen three sizes the size anyone should need, even to cater for banquets; a skinny teenage boy in a t-shirt that hangs inelegantly off his shoulders and eyes red from crying and from contacts left in too long and from magic. His forehead rests against a broad, familiar, safe chest that rises and falls so slowly. There's a hand in his hair and one solidly between his shoulder blades. These three points of contact ground him in this world.

He moves away, or starts to, and Suzaku catches his lips against Lelouch’s.

His own are dry and cracked, too-thin and twisted to permanent crookedness. Suzaku’s are warm and steady against him, like the rest of him, and haven't changed a bit. Lelouch has always loved him.


	2. Chapter 2

Later, behind white silk that drips with red, Suzaku cannot bring himself to penetrate Lelouch. He doesn't have to ask why. 

He crawls on top of him and unravels his knight with his mouth and his hands. He's good at this. Clumsy as he can be when it comes to physically exerting himself, his hands and his mouth are subtle and clever, and know exactly where to caress and breathe against sensitive flesh, and when to scrape nails and bite down. Suzaku’s hips are shaking by the time Lelouch shoves his fingers in his mouth.

“Drooling so much. You know you're just as wet here?” He moves his other hand, just barely, thumb smearing precome. He gets a whimper in response, but it sounds like an apology, and when he pulls his fingers free Suzaku repeats it, it is.

“Suzaku,” he says, putting all the reverence and adoration he has into one word, and, oh, of all the people to forget how important words are as well as actions, to make people feel the way you want them to feel. “It's so good.”

Hips jerk, and he's on the right track.

“Knowing how much you want me makes me feel so good, Suzaku,” he murmurs, and if his voice slips into the lower registers Zero uses, he doesn’t notice it himself.

His lips brush against a sharp collarbone, against a heart, against a ragged scar.

“You’re so good,” he reiterates. So what if his vocabulary is a little stunted in a situation like this? He’s a little distracted by the perfect knight laid out for him here, and by the insistent strain of his own dick against his underwear.

Strong, warm hands uncurl from the bedsheets, slide around his ribs. A thumb covers that small point, so easily. A reminder to himself, Lelouch thinks. Putting himself in the way again, as usual. Suzaku pulls them both up to sit, and kisses him. His mouth is hot and wet and smiling, and his tongue catches on Lelouch’s teeth and leaves him gasping.

“So good,” he manages again, and Suzaku chuckles, the sound rumbling where their chests are pushed together. One hand holds Lelouch up, on his knees, while the other trails too slow down his stomach and over his hip, fingers playing at the waistband of his underwear.

“Not got much to say today, hm?” he asks, kissing down Lelouch’s chest.

Lelouch can’t reach any of the parts of Suzaku he was just touching. Buries his hands in his hair instead, not worried about smudging spit and pre into soft curls, instead letting his body curl, bent over Suzaku as he pushes the scant fabric down and wraps his hand around Lelouch.

The noise he makes at the contact is positively embarrassing, and he’s sure the matching expression is worse, so he’s grateful that Suzaku can’t see his face from this angle.

“Want you,” Suzaku mumbles into his chest, and Lelouch trembles and nods.

He is wanted.

When he comes inside Suzaku, they’re holding hands, the old, faded, twin scars across their palms meeting again.

That had been the first time they’d spilled each other’s blood. Just children, making promises any adult would think were impossible for boys so small to keep.

Falling asleep in freshly-stained silk sheets, not all that much later, sweat cooling on their tangled-up naked bodies, not all that much has changed since then, except the distance to their goal. Their fingers interlace and Suzaku makes a half-noise as he falls asleep that might be a profession of feelings, or might just be nonsense. It doesn’t matter. Lelouch sleeps smiling.

 

The next time Suzaku enters Lelouch, and makes him spill everywhere, it is the fulfillment of a promise and a confession all at once.

They become one, and then, they become zero.


	3. Chapter 3

A boy drives a cart.

Sunlight beats down on his wide-brimmed hat, and he reaches up to wipe sweat from where his hair sticks to his skin.

A brief pause to stare at his palm, a reminder that he is not a boy anymore. There was a scar there when he was. He kisses it, in memory.


End file.
